Harry Potter And The No Fan Bastard
by Reallybored2
Summary: WARNING! OC-CENTRIC! True Harry Potter fans would have been in the grip of orgasmic joy finding themseves in the book. However, Ian J. Parker was no fan-And, no, he was not overjoyed.
1. Meeting The Bastard

**Disclaimer:** I own **NOTHING HERE!** _Harry Potter_ his Universe, his family, his friends, his enemies, and his acquaintances are all the work and creation of J. K. Rowlings. **I OWN NOTHING HERE!**** NOTHING!**

Hi ya! After all the OC and Self-Inserts I've been reading lately, I've decided to try my hand in writing one-But with a twist! :)

My OC is not a hero, he doesn't want to be a hero; in fact, he's as far removed from hero material as you can get. Save Harry Potter? Please! Not this guy!

PS, there's going to be cursing here. And yes, it's going to be Dark. If you're not mature enough to handle any of that, then press the handy-dandy Back key and search for fic with a PG rating. Okay?

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**WARNING! OC-CENTRIC!** True Harry Potter fans would have been in the grip of orgasmic joy finding themselves in the book. However, Ian J. Parker was no fan-And, no, he was not overjoyed.

**S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S* S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S*S***

Harry Potter and the No Fan Bastard

**MEETING THE BASTARD**

True Harry Potter fans would have been in the grip of orgasmic joy-Some so far gone as going into a catatonic state if Fate and Magic ever decided to ignore the Laws of their Universe, and place these dedicated fans within the world of their favorite book.

However, the small boy with wild black hair and sharp, resentful green eyes, standing within King's Crossing station, avoided and ignored by the rushing commuters, a dark scowl on his face, his hands holding a large plastic bag of shelled peanuts, was not one of those people-A fan that is. Neither of the rabid or casual variety.

He was, of course, eleven years old; and for the performance of his current activity, standing slightly to the side, and in front, of the pillars of platform nine and platform ten. Occasionally he would throw a few shelled peanuts between the two pillars with surprising strength and speed-Smirking when unseen voices, coming from between the pillars, loudly yelped or protested, cursing the unknown peanut thrower.

He chuckled in dark amusement, as a particularly loud curse hit his ears, his hand already in the relatively still full bag. _Gotcha!_ He internally crowed, a small, satisfied smile curling the ends of his lips. A parchment letter, hidden in his effects, identified the surly peanut thrower as Ian J. Parker.

Not a name his mother and father had decided to give him-No, _that_ name was an invention of his less-then-dear cousin, and whatever spell, or more accurately, Curse, had brought him to Harry Potter's Universe as an eleven year old Hogwarts student.

No, he was not a particularly happy, or satisfied, soul at the moment.

For the nineteen-year-old college student, getting shrunk and transported to another dimension, because his idiot cousin/roommate was messing around with something he should never have laid a finger on-Was just . . .the pits.

**HOURS EARLIER, IN A DIMENSION FAR, FAR AWAY . . .**

_ "Hey! Cuz! You would not believe what those physics guys are working on!" His excited cousin informed 'Ian'._

_ "Don't know, don't care," 'Ian' mumbled, shifting around on the couch until he was comfortable. He closed his eyes, preparing for a nap. Regardless of the fact, that it was Friday, a week's worth of cash sat in his wallet, and he was a nineteen year old single guy, with an apartment (shared with his cousin-but hey, it was just the two of them!), he was dead dog tired, had a shit for all week, and wanted a nap! Better yet . . .he wanted his idiot cousin to go away, and leave him the hell alone!_

_ Besides, what the hell did he care what his creepy, mad scientists employers were up to in that lab of theirs? He was on the janitorial nightshift staff-He pushed a broom, used the mop on occasion, and collected a paycheck at the end of the week. For some reason, cleaning up spilled goo in a Hazmat suit was easier then attending to full day time college courses-He never seemed to have enough time for anything anymore!_

_ "But 'Ian'," came the whine, "I may not be around for long . . .I'm going away."_

_ 'Ian' snorted, doubting that. His eyes remaining close, his mind trying to block out his annoying relative, and drift off to sleep._

_ "No, seriously . . .Those physics geeks . . .You know, the ones with the weird equipment-Well, weirder then usual? They found a way of opening portals to other dimensions-To other Universes! Places that exist only in books, and-and movies, and TV, and, and comic books! 'Ian'! It's just so mind blowing!"_

_ 'Ian', halfway asleep pictured his cousin's head blowing up-He smiled._

_ He drifted in and out of sleep, as his cousin talked._

_ " . . .that's why . . .**blah, blah** . . .using portal . . .**blah, blah, blah** . . .The Harry Potter Universe . . .going as an eleven year old to Hogwarts! And please tell mom, and the rest of the family, that it was **MY** choice. That I'm happy, and that I'm going to be a great wizard, and that, that I saved Harry Potter!"_

_ Retreating footsteps and a closing front door gave 'Ian' a measure of welcomed peace and quiet. His demented relative not missed at all. At least, not until ten minutes later, when 'Ian' bolted upright in sober, wide-eyed alarm-Did his moron of a cousin say that he was going to use some experimental equipment on himself, to get to an imaginary world?!_

_ "Oh, shit!" He cursed out into an empty apartment._

_ Hastily, Ian put back on his running shoes, and grabbed his leather jacket from the chair he had dumped it on. Barely pausing to lock the apartment door, 'Ian' practically flew down the two flights of stairs, and hurled out into the street where his 1969 Dodge Charger was parked._

_ 'Ian' had bought the ancient car for six hundred dollars from a relative. The skin of the car was pitted over with enough dents and craters to compete with the moon, with rust making an aggressive effort to devour the steel skin of the vehicle; but the engine and other essential parts were well maintained and ran smoothly. Fixing the body of the car, Ian figured, was a project for the future-A future where he had once had a good paying job! With a touch from its owner, the Charger leaped out of its parked position, and within an eye blink, was gone down the street._

_ Gripping the steering wheel in hard, white knuckled fists 'Ian' prayed he was in time to prevent his incredibly stupid cousin from, **at best**, oh, getting them fired. He gulped, when he considered that the **worse** could encompass three damn ugly possibilities: Prison time, long term hospitalization without insurance-because they were fired. Or . . .A memorial stone in a corner of a cemetery somewhere, because body parts were too tiny and liquefied to salvage. For a brief moment, 'Ian' had a morbid thought about who on the janitorial staff was going to draw the short end of the straw, and get to clean up the gory mess._

_ If it seemed like 'Ian' was inflating the worse case scenario . . .No, 'Ian' had cleaned up enough lab accidents to justify his darker expectations._

_ Rage crossed the young man's mind. Yet another crisis involving his cousin, made 'Ian' question whether the deal he made with his mother, to look after the fool, was worth the free two bedroom apartment-A nice place to live, while he went to school; while saving up his money for other stuff. All he had to do in return was put up with an annoying, and irritating roommate, and make certain the moron stayed out of trouble!_

_ Never once in that deal did 'Ian' agree to become an ingredient in a modern day witches brew! At least, not that 'Ian' could remember._

_ He pulled into the near empty parking lot, parked his car as close to the nearest entry door as he could get, turned off his lights and pulled the key out of the ignition. 'Ian' jumped out of his car, and slammed the door shut harder then he should have upon glimpsing his cousin's parked Ford. Running back into the building he had left, no more then an hour earlier, 'Ian' barely nodded to the security guard on duty._

_ "Left my wallet in one of the labs, Eddie! Got my entire paycheck in there!" 'Ian' called out to the security guard. "Be out soon! By the way? Did my cousin come through here? He was supposed to find it for me, but he may be going to the wrong lab-Can you tell me where he went?"_

_ 'Ian' waited while Eddie took a look at the monitors behind his counter._

_ "Lab 5-C. Down in the second sublevel! Hope you find it soon!"_

_ "Oh, hey, thanks, Eddie!" 'Ian' smiled and waved to the helpful man, and ran off towards the stairs-The elevators were just too damn slow._

_ 'Ian' running down the stairs, considered how his cousin's obsession with a fictional character, and a fictional universe, had led them to their current, and possibly lethal, situation-'Ian' understood why his cousin had chosen to bury himself in a fantasy world. 'Ian' had been there, for the majority of the shit . . .His cousin's father had died when he had been very young boy. His uncle had been the victim of an angry neighbor armed with a eight inch kitchen knife; the neighbor had been pissed off because he had been told to go smoke in front of **his** place, instead of handing that toxic smoke over to his non-smoking neighbors. Needless to say, his cousin, playing in the yard, got to see and hear it all._

_ His cousin's mother, already suffering from heavy allergies and chronic asthma, added deep depression to the growing list. She became neurotic, and burned through odd obsessions. Sadly and tragically, she eventually went to sleep, and never woke up again. Her autopsy revealed she died from an asthma attack in her sleep._

_ **That** is how his cousin had landed officially and permanently in his family. At least as far as the paperwork could finally say. Thanks to his mother's chronic illness, his cousin had been, more or less, a permanent presence in their house, living in the bedroom next to his, for years before his mother had passed on._

_ Not that 'Ian' objected to his cousin-For years 'Ian' considered his cousin his brother. So, what changed 'brother' to 'moron', or 'idiot'? 'Ian' just got tired. He got tired of constantly looking after, and cleaning up, after someone who should have been stronger. Instead, his cousin kept throwing himself one pity party after another. Never moving beyond the 'Poor Me' stage of things._

_ Sure his cousin had a hard time-But, he was surrounded by family who wanted him, loved him, cherished and protected him._

_ Hell! His mother had embraced her nephew as her own son, worked and sacrificed for him. 'Ian' had practically thrown away his own social life, protecting his cousin from bullies, helping him with school work and other projects, and just helping him get through life in general._

_ -His cousin's current job, on the janitorial staff? 'Ian' had gotten that for him, figuring it was easier to keep his eye on him if he was close by. Damn, but did that ever backfire!_

_ Then, there was **Harry Potter**. Unlike other kids, 'Ian' had never fallen in love with the story. 'Ian' had always preferred the more traditional comic book hero-He added **Naruto** and **Ranma** to his list of preferences only as he got older. His cousin . . .his cousin had gone in the other direction. Becoming a rabid fanatic of the book and series. His aunt, sorry to say, indulged his interests, overlooking her nephew's new quirks-Like his obvious fake, and annoying, British accent. The round, non-prescription, glasses he started wearing actually gave his cousin a funny expression. 'Ian' had laughed out loud when his cousin had dyed his mousy brown hair a coal black, and used mousse to stick it up into a wild form._

_ 'Ian' never bothered asking his cousin about the overly long, red and yellow striped knitted scarf he constantly wore-Even in warm weather. The only thoughts he did occasionally have on it, involved using it to strangle his cousin._

_ One time when he had arrived home earlier then expected, 'Ian' had caught his cousin galloping around their shared apartment, with a broomstick between his legs._

_ 'Ian' decided he really wanted to purge that memory._

_ Now, his cousin had gone and found a possible way of making his fantasies into a reality!_

_ Of course, the possibility remained that he could have simply found a new and inventive way of committing suicide; either way, 'Ian' had to stop the fool-Regardless of the outcome, his mother would be heartbroken._

_ The frozen stone in his stomach got colder and heavier, as he arrived at the lab door. 'Ian' swiped his ID card in the security card slot, waited for the indicator light to turn green before pushing down on the door handle and hastily opening the door. 'Ian' immediately spotted his cousin sitting at the control console -His cousin had started some kind of countdown, as the large counter on the opposite wall indicated. The happy idiot was typing away at the computer console, and with a final, satisfied poke at one of the keys, 'Ian' assumed was **Enter**, the fool sprung up from the console chair he had been sitting in, and hurried to the center of the lab. A spot clear of equipment and furniture, with lines and numbers painted on the floor._

_ "No, you don't!" 'Ian' yelled at his surprised cousin, leaping into the room._

_ The few minutes left in the countdown were devoured by the fistfight between the cousins. It took that long for Eddie to arrive with reinforcements-'Ian' stood, bleeding from his split lip, glaring at his cousin, held between two of the larger security guards on duty, forgetting **where** he was standing. At least, until the countdown hit zero._

_ Realization struck 'Ian' as he stared into his horror stricken cousin's face-A look 'Ian' was certain he shared._

_ Before 'Ian' disappeared in a bright light, he screamed out in rage-"Naruto kicks Potter's ass!"-_

No, 'Ian' thought, launching another peanut missile between the pillars, and smirking at yet another surprise shriek hurling out of the hidden platform. His cousin should never have laid a **finger **on that equipment-One or two of them he optimistically hoped he had broken during the fight.

_ He had appeared at the King's Crossing station, slightly before sunrise. Not surprising, not too many people were about that early in the morning. 'Ian' discovered that the few warm bodies walking about completely ignored the presence of a boy who had just popped into existence._

_ Ordinarily, any of the adults passing through that section of the station should have noticed a kid having a nervous breakdown-But, nah, apparently the Moron had taken precautions of the magical kind-At least, he assumed they were magical. 'Ian' had his breakdown in relative peace and anonymity. Allowing him enough time to get his twitching body under control, and then haul his skinny backside off to the nearest public rest room for a quick check on the damages._

_ He headed straight for the mirrors over the sinks-And he really should not have been surprised at the child staring back at him. A boy, who looked oddly familiar, with wild black hair, almond shaped green eyes, and a pointed chin-And no, he did not look like the actor, Daniel Radcliffe!_

_ 'Ian' cut off the hysterical cackle before it overwhelmed his fragile control._

_ He took a breath-His cousin **WOULD** have sunk as low as going for the cliché of the Boy-Who-Lived long lost twin brother! Or maybe, the Moron was going for the long lost relative cliché? Which family though? The Evans, or the Potters? 'Ian' made a disgusted noise, and flung off that speculation-None of that matter! He decided forcefully. At least, not for the present moment!_

_ No, what mattered was how he was going to get back home-Back to his former height; back to those fun bits of his (Yes, he knew without looking, how underdeveloped his eleven year old self was going to be in that area.) that he had waited years to grow into!_

_ 'Ian' closed his new odd green eyes, and took a few cleansing breathes, clutching the edge of the counter, and decided to inventory what the Moron had packed, refusing to acknowledge the cold, lost feeling inside him._

_ The young man turned young boy turned out his pockets, and looked through the backpack he had been unaware he had been wearing (an expandable backpack, with notice-me-not and repellant charms on it). The stuff he cluttered the long sink counter with included his very ordinary passport, a copy of his birth certificate ('Ian' rolled his eyes up-California. Really?), and a bank book with an eye popping amount printed on it. There was also a safety deposit key, something to look into later. The red velvet drawstring bag produced a total of FIVE golden Gringotts vault keys, and a vicious snarl from 'Ian' that a Goblin would have admired-If the Moron decided he had to be a descendant of Merlin . . .Oh, for Fuck's sake! The Moron just had to keep piling up the cliches!_

_ 'Ian' calmed himself . . .Until he checked, it was all speculation-Until he went to Gringotts anyway._

_ The cash he was somewhat expecting. The amount was a slight surprise-'Ian' noted the bands of $10,000 around the American bills, and counted six of them. So, sixty thousand dollars, not as bad as 'Ian' originally thought it might get-Honestly? With an expandable space to stash everything in, the Moron could have easily dumped a million in cash in there. The same with the British pound notes, although there was an equal amount of dollars to pounds, 'Ian' took a wild guess that the conversion unit was about roughly two dollars for every pound. The fifty thousand francs was well out of his guessing range. Over all, 'Ian' was surprised at the Moron's restraint. The small leather pouch, clinking when it landed on the counter, merely made 'Ian' sigh-Absently, he wondered how much gold, silver, and bronze coins could a bag with expandable charms hold?_

_ His wallet produced a student picture ID from his 'old' school, an ID card with his name, address, age (Eleven! Ha! He knew it!), and phone number. 'Ian' stared at that the longest, and wondered if he called the phone number, who or what would pick up. There was the expected cash, in small bills, in there-A hundred in American dollars, two hundred in British pounds . . .and two Canadian dollars._

_ The last puzzled 'Ian' until he remembered the Moron keeping two Canadian dollars in his wallet, from the trip the family took to the Canadian side of Niagara falls, back when the Moron was ten. In fact, they celebrated the fool's birthday over there-A pity they returned home with him._

_ The two platinum credit cards in the wallet, was making 'Ian' feel a little nauseous. "Here, piggy, piggy, piggy!" 'Ian' murmured in disgust. He pulled out a photograph of his mom, himself, and the Moron. He stared at it for a moment, before carefully setting it on the counter._

_ The thirteen and a half inch ebony wood stick, with a core of sea snake venom, drew 'Ian' attention, and the sickening realization that he **KNEW** what the thing was made of._

_ For a long moment, 'Ian' stared at the wand. For some inexplicable reason a short snicker escaped him. He quickly cut it off. Why-? His startled mind questioned. As 'Ian' continued to stare at the long piece of wood, it indirectly hit him-His cousin's insecurities . . .They extended to other area of his life. Ebony was a hard wood, right? Thirteen and a half inches. **SNAKE?** He involuntarily snickered again. Not that there was any real humor there at all, but for some reason, small feather touches of amusement encouraged a few, brief snickers._

_ A moment later, 'Ian' began chuckling, then laughing, and then cackling. Suddenly he noticed he was down on the floor, sobbing. Until, once again, he had to fight off the blazing hysteria threatening to burn through him._

_ Reaching up 'Ian' grasped the counter's edge, and slowly pulled himself up. Avoiding looking into the mirror, 'Ian' reached over the sink and turned on the cold water. As the water flowed down the spigot and splashed into the sink, 'Ian' cupped his hands together, pushed them under the stream of water and waited until they were over flowing before pulling his cupped hands back, and splashing his face with the water. He repeated the action several times before he looked up into his mirror image-His hands clasping the side of the sink; blowing and gasping, water running down his nose, the sides of his face, and down the unfamiliar pointy chin. Red rimmed green eyes burned with an inner flame-hot enough to make them glow slightly. Bloodless, tightly pressed lips made a thin, angry line under his nose._

_ 'Ian' shook his head, sending water flying in all directions. He stopped and glared for a final time at his mirror image, water drops and droplets distorting the reflection. Turning away, Ian quickly grabbed a few paper towels from a nearby dispenser and pressed and patted dry his face and head. He dropped the wet wad of paper towels in a trashcan, and ambled back to the counter to collect his 'things'._

_ 'Ian' paused at the photograph of their family. He stared down for a moment at the three people in the photo. His hand shook slightly before he quickly folded the photo, pressed his thumb and pointer finger against the opposite sides of the new fold's edged and zipped up and down it until he had a good enough sharp crease. He unfolded the photo and carefully tore along the new crease. The portion with himself and his mother in it he gently slid back into his wallet. The part with his cousin in it, Ian took to the nearest urinal._

_ 'Ian' dumped the strip down on top of the urinal cake, making certain the happy face on it was staring up at him. 'Ian' stood in front of that urinal, unzipped, took himself out, aimed, and released a stream of piss on his cousin's face._

_ When the green eyed boy stepped out of the rest room, his face was set into hard lines. Revenge, 'Ian' decided with firm resolution, was about taking apart anything and everything that goddamn little bastard favored and love. The British Wizarding world, Ian Jay Parker vowed, was going to **BURN!**_

**BACK TO THE PEANUT THROWING . . .**

As fun as the peanut throwing was, a sudden glimpse of a head of black, wild hair, similar to his own, bobbing into view signaled the end of Ian's entertainment.

The ex-college student, stood with his plastic bag of peanuts in his hands, staring at a boy that might have been his mirror image, barring the fact, that the boy was thinner, shorter, bespectacled, wearing oversized worn clothing. A pale and wan copy-Who was frantically trying to find platform 9 and 3/4, while dragging a station trolley, loaded with a large wooden trunk, and a caged snowy owl, behind him.

Ian smirked and launched one of his peanuts at the boy's head.

"Ouch!"

Bullseye! The boy, who could only have been Harry Potter, jerked his head around, staring at everything and everyone trying to find the culprit, his hand rubbing the stinging spot on his head where the peanut connected.

Ian grinned and gave the confused boy a 'come over here!' wave. Harry paused, then hesitantly walked over to the dark haired boy, who had just attacked him with a-Well, Harry suspected, seeing the bag in the other boy's hand-a peanut.

"Did you, did you just throw a peanut at me?" Harry asked, uncertainly.

"And nailed you good!" Ian replied proudly. "Here watched this!" He turned to the brick wall between platforms nine and ten, and carefully hurled another peanut. The shelled groundnut predictably passed through the wall, and a moment later, a screaming curse flew out of the seemingly solid barrier.

Ian chuckled, as Harry gaped.

"Ho-how, how . . .?"

Ian chortled. "It's platform 9 and 3/4! The bastards have it hidden behind this illusionary wall. Magical folks and their stuff can pass through without a problem, but common folks can go as far as leaning on the stupid thing, and not fall through! Awesome, huh?" He stuck out his free hand, a friendly grin on his face. "Ian J. Parker, American, eleven years old, and a first time Hogwarts student-You?"

Harry slowly and shyly put out his hand. "Harry Potter."

The darker, callused hand was surprisingly gentle, but firm, when it clasped his and shook it once before letting go.

"Hey . . .wait. Uh, why, uh, why did you hit me with a peanut?" Harry questioned, incredulously.

"I had to catch your attention!" Ian explained cheerfully. "I saw that you had all that Hogwarts shit-" Ian pointed to Hedwig and the trunk on the trolley. "And looking all lost and shit . . .And thought to myself: Dude! That kid needs directions-And pronto!"

Harry shifted uneasily at the casual cursing, but well . . .They were at that point of introduction when Dudley usually appeared and threatened his new acquaintance. Harry suddenly realized that he had been tensing up in anticipation for that menacing interruption . . .Except, Dudley was far, far away in Surrey, and the boy he had been talking to was . . .Holding out a chocolate bar.

"Harry, you want one? I've got lots packed for the trip!" Ian offered the candy bar again.

Harry shyly and hesitantly reached out for it, half expecting the treat to be snatched away from him at the last moment. Then his fingers touched the wrapper, and the rest of the tiny package ended up in his hand. Internally something relaxed, something Harry was certain was waiting for the usual painful betrayal, and laughing rejection. Instead, he had a whole chocolate bar in his hand, and a smiling friendly face looking on.

"Cool owl! What's her name?" Ian exclaimed excitedly, staring at Hedwig, who graced the boy with a haute look.

"Her name's Hedwig." Harry said softly, shyly.

"Hn, you named her after a strong, courageous hero-Good name, it fits her." Ian mused out loud. Hedwig preened and seemed to grow visible larger under the compliment. "That cage though . . .I know it's her home and carrying case, but," Ian turned to Harry looking concerned. "Do you think it's a good idea keeping her locked up for hours like that? Bad enough we're going to be cooped up for hours on that boring, long ass train ride up to Scotland, but for her, it might be down right uncomfortable!"

"What, what do recommend then?" An alarmed Harry asked, suddenly concerned for his owl. _Hours? Scotland?_ Hagrid never mentioned or hinted about anything like that . . .Hagrid, who also seemed to have forgotten to tell him where platform 9 and 3/4 was located!

"Right, right . . .Why don't you let her out of her cage, and let her fly to Hogwarts by herself? By the time we arrive there, she'll be snug, comfortable and fed-Honestly, in a helluva better condition then we'll be!" Ian rolled his eyes, and started muttering about idiot wizards, and their stupid traditions taking out a chunk of his life he could never get back!

Harry indecision settled then. He opened the cage, and instructed Hedwig. "Met me at Hogwarts. Alright, girl?"

With a bark of affirmation, Hedwig flew out of her cage, circled once over their heads, before diving into the entrance of platform 9 and 3/4.

"Oh, wow! Snowies do bark!" Exclaimed Ian in wide-eyed wonder. He gestured to the portal, grinning. "Owls can navigate that space better then the rest of the station-They have entrances and exits designed just for them on that side. Important if you don't want an owl getting smushed by a train!"

Harry stood there, with the open cage sitting on top of his trunk, staring at the supposedly solid brick wall his owl had disappeared into. "If you say so," he murmured glumly, feeling suddenly very much alone.

"Yep! Hey, don't worry! She'll be alright! Hogwarts' got some nice digs for their owls-They'll treat her like a queen! You'll see! But come on-It's time for us to follow, and get onboard the train." Ian gestured to the hidden entrance. He suddenly smirked. "Or, do you want to stay here, and do a meet-and-greet with your fans?"

Harry suddenly startled. He had forgotten about them! Worse, without Hagrid around to pull them off of him-Harry gulped in fear.

"Walk right through?" Harry questioned weakly.

Ian chortled and walked through the wall.

Harry, left alone on the other side, swallowed. He aligned his trolley with the wall, and with his eyes closed, pushed it and himself, hard, straight into the wall-Only to keep going instead of crashing like he half expected!

"Whoa!"

Harry's trolley came to a jerky stop, while he collided not too gently with it. He opened his eyes, and stared into amused green eyes.

"If you had kept going, you would have smashed right into it," Ian said, mockingly.

Harry looked where Ian gestured-And felt his eyes widen . . ."Oh, my . . ." Harry breathed in awe.

The biggest, shiniest, red steam locomotive, Harry had ever seen, sat on the tracks. Great plumes, and geysers, of white steam wrapping and caressing the powerful and beautiful machine, vibrating with restrained power.

"Ok, Harry . . .enough rubbernecking-Let's find ourselves a cabin!" Ian gleefully said. He pulled Harry's trolley towards the passenger cars, trusting Harry would follow. After a moment, Harry peeled his eyes off the locomotive and stumbled after his new, well, friend?

**WITH ONLY MINUTES UNTIL THE TRAIN DEPARTS . . .**

Ian maliciously smirked as he casually ambled along the car corridor. Behind him, through the car's open exterior door, he could hear Molly Weasley's banshee loud voice screaming/protesting her son's innocence-"We had just arrived! My son has NOT been throwing peanuts at anyone! Much less doing it for several HOURS, now!"

After originally boarding the train with Harry, they had claimed a cabin at the end of the train; with a feather weight charm that Ian had taken the time to teach to Harry, the boys had lifted Harry's trunk up into the luggage rack. Hedwig's cage having been stowed in the trunk before hand.

With time on their hands, the boys had spent time talking about the English Wizarding world, their families, their lives and futures in general. The huge bag of candy, and the collection of comic books, that Ian pulled out of his expandable backpack, helped grease the wheels of communication. However, before long, Ian excused himself for a call of nature.

Quickly, and out of sight from his shared cabin window, Ian found the people he had been expecting to see.

His cousin, Ian knew, had been fond of them. No doubt the idiot was looking forward to meeting them, with about as much excitement as he was in meeting Harry. With eyes looking towards owning a Molly made jumper around Christmas, Ian was certain-_Ain't gonna happen, pal!_ Ian thought with cold, solid resolve.

In the chaos of the soon to depart Hogwarts express, sidling up to the Weasley's was easy. Hours of peanut throwing had Ian accurately snapping off several shelled nuts, painfully connecting with his targets (Including the wide spread bum of one Molly Weasley). Quickly shoving off the bag into the hands of a surprised and frozen red haired boy, who was unfortunately standing behind his mother at the time, then hastily melting into the crowd.

The resulting vengeful mob had Molly screaming her boy's innocence, rubbing her stinging buttock with one hand, while the other hand menaced individuals with a drawn wand. All the while Ron Weasley cowered behind the protective circle of his family's bodies-The incriminating, innocent looking _paper_ bag of peanuts still in his hands.

An evil smirk gracing his lips, Ian ambled along the car's corridor, a lump in his pocket from the stunned, unconscious furry rat form of Peter Pettigrew-He had lifted the thing from Ron's pocket the moment Molly started shrieking and grabbing at her backside. Ian had plans for the evil little wizard-And no, it did not involve handing him over to Madame Bones! At least, not at the moment.

The large lump in his other pocket came from the Twins unsorted, and purloined, possessions. What? He was going to leave a treasure like the Marauders map in their goo dripping paws? No one noticed, or would have noticed, the modified hybrid _Accio/Apparate_ Ian used to empty out the Twins pockets, or loot their trunks.

Ian casted a modified Stick'em charm on the two boys clothing; only patches of cloth would stick and tear off. That would leave the Twins in rags, lamenting their torn pockets and all their stuff, lost forever in the riot their brother, Ron, started. Exactly how hard the Twins were going to cry depended on what goodies they had in their trunks, when their trunks mysteriously caught fire. Ian, suspecting the Twins were smuggling fireworks into the castle, decided that a few good, timed, explosions made for a good cover.

A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Ian looked down, and his face broke into a gleeful grin as he dove down and caught a fast hoping toad.

"Ah, Trevor, I presume?" Ian purred. He examined the wayward animal closely, and noted the same gleam of intelligence in its eyes that he had seen in the other animals on the train. An idea formed. "I wonder . . .Since you like to explore . . .How would," Ian's evil smirk returned. "How would you like to be the first toad ever on the moon?"

The toad's eyes widen, and Ian internally crowed out: _**BINGO!**_

Ian cheerfully whistled as he stepped back into his shared cabin, slid the door closed, and nonchalantly returned to his seat.

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** Didn't I tell you this guy wasn't nice? Still, what can you expect from a guy that has been torn away from his family, his home, his entire life? A shrug and a "Oh, well."?**

** Not to worry . . .At his core, Ian is a decent guy, and he does get, somewhat, better.**

** That's a wrap for Chapter One. If you want, below is an excerpt from Chapter Two.**

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**THE HARROWING ADVENTURES OF BEAVER GIRL AND TOAD BOY!**

After meeting the Not-Daniel Radcliffe Harry, why should Ian have been surprised at the Not-Emma Watson, who slid open the compartment door, and loudly asked, "Has anyone seen a toad?"

Ian, who had a greasy french fry half way to his mouth, paused in mid motion to consider the young girl framed by the doorway: She was a small, gawky thing, with long bushy hair, that tragically looked like an old, damaged afro wig. She had big, brown googly eyes bright with intelligence. Ian stared in horrified fascination at her big front teeth-Rowlings, had if anything, had understated the size of Hermione Granger's upper front teeth: Buck teeth? Hell no! _Beaver sized teeth!_

"-seen a toad? Neville, here, has lost his." Uncertain movement behind Hermione broke Ian's near hypnotic focus on her teeth. The Not-Matthew David Lewis Neville was a pudgy, shy little boy, who fidgeted in nervous anxiety.

"H-h-hello? I-I'm looking for my toad, Trevor. Has anyone seen him?" Neville forcefully breathed out his question, looking strained and uncomfortable.

Ian felt himself twitching. For the first time, Ian found the stirrings of . . .empathy? Sympathy? He really had to watch out for things like that. After all, he was out to screw over his cousin's wonderful magical little World. Doing damage to the original plot line was-An evil thought abruptly rose up from nowhere, and almost caused Ian to giggle out loud: It tickled.

_Change of plan,_ Ian gleefully thought. "What kind of toad is he?" Ian innocently asked.

"Kind?" Neville looked confused at the question. "He-he's a toad."

"I mean," Ian explained in slight exasperation, "is the slippery little beast a native toad species? Something common and ordinary within the British Isles? Or is his species an import from Europe? Or, is he something more exotic? Is he toxic? How big is he? Does he blow up to twice his size? Can he shed limbs and regenerate them? Can he change his gender? Does he have some kind of special, and identifiable, vocalizations? Does he have any special attributes or abilities? What kind of skin coloration and markings does he have? Can he change his skin tone to match his surroundings, like a chameleon can? Does he have bony ridges on his skull? Does he have claws-?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" A fuming Hermione brusquely interrupted. "IT'S. A. TOAD. It looks like a frog! Have you seen a small, hopping, frog like animal around here, or not?!"

Ian gave a thoughtful, "Hmmmm", carefully and deliberately slid his french fry back in with it's fellow fries, within the colorful cardboard fast food french fry container. He wiped his hand on a paper napkin, ignoring Hermione's impatiently tapping foot, and Neville's rapid, near panting breathing. He patted the lump in his pocket, nodded to himself, reached into his pocket and pulled out-

"Trevor!"


	2. Weasels, Ferrets, and Departing Trains

**Disclaimer:** I own **NOTHING HERE! **Everything and everyone in the _Harry Potter_ Universe, including Harry, belongs to its creator and writer, J. K. Rowlings. Occasionally, materials, characters, and settings owned by other parties will be used in the story-Again, **I OWN NOTHING HERE!** In short, **IF YOU RECOGNIZE IT, I DON'T OWN IT!**

Second chapter, and Ian is doing a little more sabotage. I admit, this chapter is darker and grimmer then the last one. My OC is trashing the Weasleys, specifically Molly, and he's not being gentle about it.

Some reviewers mentioned pairings? Nope, sorry. Not for Ian. He HATES the characters-At least for the present moment he does. Besides, he's a nineteen-year-old man regardless of his current physical age-The kids at Hogwarts would be too young for him. As for the older students, Ian would be too young for THEM!

And, yeah, there's the language thing going on. Same warnings, and solutions, from last chapter apply to this one. Remember! It's rated like it is for a reason!

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A Toad In Need

**WEASELS, FERRETS AND DEPARTING TRAINS . . .**

The care Ian took to appear casual, when he entered his shared compartment, was completely lost upon his main audience of one.

Harry was kneeling sideways on his seat, his face pressed against the window pane, his hands and arms extended out and braced against the window frame. Ian smirked when he realized just what Harry was staring at. Ian was suddenly glad he had cast silencing charms around the compartment before leaving. With Harry preoccupied, Ian took Trevor out of his pocket. Through feel, he fished out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wrapped the terrified toad up in it, and wandlessly transfigured the square of cotton cloth into a white spacesuit, complete with a transparent bubble helmet.

He mouthed a silent _'Later'_ into the toad's bulging eyes, and shoved the animal back into his pocket.

Quickly crossing over to the window, Ian stood at Harry's elbow and peered through the closed compartment window at the riot on the platform.

"Ah, of course. The Weasels and the Ferrets." Ian commented nonchalantly. "Naturally, they had to start something today."

Harry tore his eyes away from the riot; he gave his companion a questioning, quick, sideways glance. "Pardon me?" He said, his eyes and attention almost immediately snapping back to the window, and the rolling scene outside it.

There was a sudden _'thud!'_, and the silently screaming face of Draco Malfoy smashed into the window!

Harry wordlessly yelled out in surprised and jerked backwards!

Ian remained where he had been standing, critically eyeing the flattened face of the wildly struggling boy. "That is Draco Malfoy. A. K. A., The Ferret. Hmmm, I wonder what, or who, he is standing on right now?" Ian then calmly gestured to the snarling young red headed girl attached to Draco, piggyback style. Her arm tightly wrapped around the white blond-haired boy's neck, while her other hand and arm viciously, and vigorously, knuckled the boy's head. "That is Generva, or Ginny, Molly Weasley. A. K. A., The Weaselette, or just The Weasel."

Draco abruptly gave a lurch to the side and disappeared to the side somewhere.

Harry had fallen backwards into the seat, and was staring out the window, with wide, nearly protruding eyes. His thin, narrow chest heaving with quick panting breath.

"Oh, look-What do we have here?" Ian murmured. He ignored the movement by his side, as Harry cautiously returned to his previous position. "We have Momma Weasel and Poppa Ferret!" He pointed towards two combatants-A plump, red-haired woman, and a man, with long, white blond hair. The woman had the man's nose in a brutal vise, and the other hand entangled in his hair. One of the man's hands was fisted around the woman's ear; the other wrapped around the wrist connected to the hand pulling at his hair.

Privately, Ian wondered how long before they abandoned those bits, and went for other more sensitive . . .things? Hey! Whatever happened to their wands? Not that he was complaining about the level of violence-But what was a Wizard's riot without wands or hexes?!

"Lucius Malfoy and Molly Weasley," said Ian, a mild tone of disgust tinting his voice. He watched them stagger out of sight. "Bad news-Both of them. See . . .here's the thing about them-Lucius is a Death Eater, and was eyeball deep in all the shit that sort was up to in their heydays. However, the man's rich enough to have bought his way out of prison, and possible execution. But make no mistake . . .he was one of Vortmort's lieutenants, and financiers-And he NEVER repented. Molly could be classified as a poisoner, rapist, thief-Her victim, Arthur Weasley." Ian raised his eyebrows at Harry's wide-eyed stare. "Look Harry . . .Back when Molly was going to school, her twin brothers, as beloved as they were to her, managed to bankrupt the family through a series of lawsuits they managed to earn. Both men were supposedly pranksters," Ian snorted in derision. "Truth was, they were a couple of idiots with an addiction and compulsion-In Hogwarts they were protected from the consequences of their actions: Assault, destruction of property, vandalism-You know, the good stuff. Outside of Hogwarts, relatively few people found them funny. Hence, the lawsuits. Naturally, they lost their cases in practically every instance. Then there were the lawyers' fees. Needless-to-say, Molly was facing a grim financial future, since she had to pay up a portion of that debt."

"Hey, wait," Harry interrupted with a frown. "Wasn't the debt her brothers'? Why did she have to pay?"

"British Wizards are still heavily steeped in Medieval customs and laws," Ian explained. "In Medieval culture, a lot of times, it was usually the family, or the group, that got it on the neck for the crimes of a single member. In this instance, the family assets, and the twins personal assets were considered one and the same because they were the heads of the household. And all members of the immediate household had an obligation to pay that debt off. Unless they stopped being a member of that family, through, like say, marriage, in the case of the female family members."

Harry shot Ian an incredulous look. "What?" Ian protested. "It's true! It's weird, I know! To our modern sensibilities, it's sounds like plain, unfair, crazy bullshit, but that's how things work around here-Well, here in England they do. Don't know about the other European countries," Ian confessed, shrugging.

Under Harry slightly suspicious eye, Ian continued. "Molly, at that point, had several options. She was a pretty good potions mistress-However, no one would hire her. You could thank her brothers again for that one. What happens in Hogwarts, doesn't always stay in Hogwarts, Harry. The twins had earned enemies, LOTS, of enemies during their stay there. And while their actions there weren't immediately punished, it all caught up to them at a later date. People in the Wizarding world have long memories, Harry. Things might have died down if they had managed to behave themselves, but they didn't, so events spiraled down to the point they, and theirs, were practically Blacklisted." Ian squinted into the glass-Was that Narcissa? He peered closely at an elegant, and beautiful, blond woman brutally beating on a couple of twin red heads with her . . .Shoes?

Inwardly cackling, Ian tapped the glass pane. "The British Wizarding world has a relatively closed system-Few jobs, intense competition for those that do exist, and non of the high industry that usually gives people the boost up to middle class. And everything, Harry, and I mean EVERYTHING, is inflated beyond its actual cost in the world outside it. Is it any wonder most people leave upon discovering they can't make a decent living-Or, hell, any type of living?" Ian leaned his face close enough to the glass to fog up the pane with his breath. He quickly drew a smiley face in it before it faded away.

"Upon leaving the island for good, for obvious political reasons, the Ministry deliberately pronounces those people 'dead'," said Ian darkly. "In the last civil war around here, people 'died' by the thousands-However, the actual body count was either a few hundred, or a thousand. I know, I know, 'one body to many' . . .blah, blah, blah." Ian murmured, unimpressed. "Molly could have left the country, but she would have been declared 'dead', by the Ministry. That might have lifted the debt off her and given her a chance elsewhere, but it also might have meant she could never return home again."

Ian jumped, startled as a bright flash of light briefly exploded out the window-Ah-ha, they were finally using their wands! About damn time, too!

"So," Ian drawled. "Molly's only other out was marriage. And that was a tough one-'Cause Molly? Was a plain girl, with a voice people have described as a cross between a banshees wail, a harpy's shriek, and fingernails on blackboard. Adding to that, she had no manners or charm. There was worse-Molly, sadly, could only get a husband if she bribed a man with a dowry, a very large dowry at that, or got a man too drunk to know what he was being 'volunteered' for. The former was out-The latter was too short term for her plans. Eventually the guy would have sobered up. So, instead, Molly decided to use her formidable knowledge and skills in potions to set some guy up. Yep, her victim was Arthur Weasley."

_**SMACK!**_

Ian cocked his head slightly and eyed the object that had hit and stuck to the window for a while, before falling off-Was that, was that a roast beef sandwich?

"Arthur was perfect-He was an orphan, with no immediate family to become suspicious, and haul him off to Saint Mungo's, Britain's only magical hospital, for testing. Arthur had a bit of land, a house that had been in the family for generations, some money in his vault-Not a fortune, but enough. He was also young, handsome, came from a good family-And had a bright future ahead of him. Don't know what Molly used on him, but he was her's in a short period of time." Ian sighed. "The staff at Hogwarts must have noted Arthur's change of behavior-But they, as usual, did nothing to protect a student from another student. A student poisoning another student with an illegal potion should have been noticed by the experienced instructors at the school. But Dumbledore, the headmaster, could have approve of the match, and consciously decided to allow the matter to play out. The twins had been favorites of his, after all-Later, Molly became one of Dumbledore's most ardent and steady supporters." Ian thoughtfully considered. "I wonder . . .Was Arthur the price for her support?"

A hairy, middle aged man ran past, wearing nothing but an oversized pink diaper, a bib, and baby bonnet, while firing his wand behind him.

"Well, after she pops out the first kid, Molly's safe." Ian shrugged. "Line theft is an incredibly serious crime in the magical community. The penalties are so ugly, especially for the children created by that sort of rape, that most people think several times over before doing something like that. Except Molly-It make you wonder about whether she's stupid arrogant, or just confident her patron can cover for her. With Molly its likely both." Ian glanced at Harry. "Harry . . .Any kids created like that become the property of the victimized parent. Their parent could kill them, or sterilize them, and it'll be legally ok. They could sell 'em, trade 'em, put them to work at hard labor for the rest of their lives-They could do that because their kid becomes a-Thing. THAT is the reason why no one was going to denounce or expose Molly-For the sake of the child. Or children, in her case." He grimaced. "All freakin' six of 'em!"

Outside the window, a giant, flattened teddy bear was being used as a shield to deflect multi colored bolts of light. There were times when the Wizards could be amusing, mused Ian. A small child was sent flying up to the air-Only to bounce safely down on a giant marshmallow. Other times, not as much . . .

"Oh, yeah . . .Molly poisoned Arthur, raped him, and stole his life, his future; stripped the guy of his choices. Those drugs, Harry, those drugs Molly used . . .And, yeah, potions are drugs by any other name thing . . .After awhile, the effects become permanent. Worse and worse, they have side effects. Not only does the original victim suffer some permanent damage, they also affect the children's brains as well-Emotionally and mentally weird people. Thankfully, the Weasleys problems seem relatively minor-Relatively speaking."

Outside, cutting through the chaos on her way elsewhere, the lone figure of an elderly woman sailed unperturbed and undisturbed through the sea of thrashing, struggling bodies. A woman gliding lightly, regardless of her years, wearing a hard, cold, aristocratic, face-And a stuff vulture on her hat.

Ian shuddered lightly at the dangerous figure of Augusta Longbottom disappearing from his view: _Neville must be onboard_, he thought inanely.

"Seriously, Harry? It becomes a freakin' coin toss which one of those two, Lucius or Molly, is the worse monster."

Turning to look at Harry, Ian was only slightly surprise to see how pale the little boy was. "Hmm, Harry . . .It's not lunch time yet-But how about something a little more substantial to eat then candy? My treat." Ian was relieved when color began returning to the younger boy. He firmly told himself that the fading feeling he was experiencing was not, emphatically, NOT guilt. Yet, Ian was certainly glad when the whatever-it-was went away.

A sudden lurch warned them of the train's departure. _Oh, yeah, _Ian thought absently, _silencing charms._ He watched as the train slide away from the platform, and the battle on it.

"That's funny . . .I didn't hear the train whistle." Harry commented puzzled.

Suddenly, without warning, there were a series of strong flashes of bright, near blinding light, and smoke billowed out into the platform causing the combatants to break away in panic and run!

Ian smugly settled into his seat and reached for his backpack-"I hope cheeseburgers and fries-Oops! Right, right, chips, I think you Brits call them?-Well, I hope they're OK with you?" Harry nodded his assent, somewhat distracted by the silent explosions originating from the Weasleys twins' trunks.

As they ate, and watched the city, and then countryside, slid by the window, Ian wondered when Trevor's guardian, and his bushy haired minder, would show up.

Even as Ian was having thoughts about them, a sudden 'thump' at the door, a 'click' of a latch, and the sliding sound of a door on runners, to Ian's staring eyes, Trevor's saviors appeared!

"Has anyone seen a toad?"

**THE HARROWING ADVENTURES OF BEAVER GIRL AND TOAD BOY!**

After meeting the Not-Daniel Radcliffe Harry, why should Ian have been surprised at the Not-Emma Watson, who slid open the compartment door, and loudly asked, "Has anyone seen a toad?"

Ian, who had a greasy french fry half way to his mouth, paused in mid motion to consider the young girl framed by the doorway: She was a small, gawky thing, with long bushy hair, that tragically looked like an old, damaged, faded afro wig. She had big, brown googly eyes bright with intelligence. Ian stared in horrified fascination at her big front teeth-Rowlings, had if anything, had understated the size of Hermione Granger's upper front teeth: Buck teeth? Hell no! _Beaver sized teeth!_

"-seen a toad? Neville, here, has lost his." Uncertain movement behind Hermione broke Ian's near hypnotic focus on her teeth. The Not-Matthew David Lewis Neville was a pudgy, shy little boy, who fidgeted in nervous anxiety.

"H-h-hello? I-I'm looking for my toad, Trevor. Has anyone seen him?" Neville forcefully breathed out his question, looking strained and uncomfortable.

Ian felt himself twitching. For maybe the second time around, Ian found within himself, the stirrings of . . .empathy? Sympathy? He really had to watch out for disturbing things like that. After all, he was out to screw over his cousin's wonderful magical little World. Doing damage to the original plot line was-An evil thought abruptly rose up from nowhere, and almost caused Ian to giggle out loud: It tickled.

_Change of plan,_ Ian gleefully thought. "What kind of toad is he?" Ian innocently asked.

"Kind?" Neville looked confused at the question. "He-he's a toad."

"I mean," Ian explained in slight exasperation, "is the slippery little beast a native toad species? Something common and ordinary within the British Isles? Or is his species an import from Europe? Or, is he something more exotic? Is he toxic? How big is he? Does he blow up to twice his size? Can he shed limbs and regenerate them? Can he change his gender? Does he have some kind of special, and identifiable, vocalizations? Does he have any special attributes or abilities? What kind of skin coloration and markings does he have? Can he change his skin tone to match his surroundings, like a chameleon can? Does he have bony ridges on his skull? Does he have claws-?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" A fuming Hermione brusquely interrupted. "IT'S. A. TOAD. It looks like a frog! Have you seen a small, hopping, frog like animal around here, or not?!"

Ian gave a thoughtful, "Hmmmm", carefully and deliberately slid his french fry back in with it's fellow fries, within the colorful cardboard fast food french fry container. He wiped his hand on a paper napkin, ignoring Hermione's impatiently tapping foot, and Neville's rapid, near panting breathing. He patted the lump in his pocket, nodded to himself, reached into his pocket and pulled out-

"Trevor!"

Ian, looking upon the compelling, joyful scene, of a Boy reunited with his Toad, with bright, shinning eyes. He immediately knew what his next project was going to be: Getting the Wandering Toad, and his Boy, to the moon!

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Whew! Did Ian trash up Molly, or what? And he also managed to take a swipe at Dumbledore, and he mentioned the bullying that goes on at Hogwarts.

Before you go: Well Harry is going to check up on the stuff Ian told him-When did Harry ever truly check up on anything someone told him? Hagrid and Ron told him all Slytherins were evil, and without any other evidence (aside from Draco), Harry believed them.

Of course, over time, Ian's credibility will shoot up as Dumbledore implements his schemes.

As for the moon thing? Remember . . .Ian is a little crazy at this point. Hopefully he'll regain enough of his sanity not to go through with that plan!

Now, some fanfic writers have been circulating, and supporting, the idea for a mass exodus of muggle born wizards and witches from Britain, rather then the mass murder claims of Dumbledore and other wizards. I think that if the latter had happened, that event might have brought exposure to Britain's magical community. To keep that from happening, the other magical communities would have had to intervene. Something Tom Riddle, crazy as he was, would have wanted to avoid.

It does make a lot more sense that a group of people finally had enough of the abuse being heaped on them, packed up, and simply left.

Okay, enough for now. Thanks for reading! Until the next chapter . . .Bye!


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